VENUS AND ADONIS. 'Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY, EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TICHFIELD. RIGHT HONOURable, I KNOW not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to your lordship, nor how the world will censure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burden: only, if your honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some graver labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noble a god-father, and never after ear so barien a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it to your honourable survey, and your honour to your heart's content; which I wish may always answer your own wish and the world's hopeful expectation. Your honour's in all duty, WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. EVEN as the sun with purple-colour'd face 'Thrice-fairer than myself,' thus she began, Nature that made thee, with herself at strife, "Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed, 'And yet not cloy thy lips with loathed satiety, With this she seizeth on his sweating palm, And trembling in her passion, calls it balm, Over one arm the lusty courser's rein, She red and hot as coals of glowing fire, The studded bridle on a ragged bough To tie the rider she begins to prove: Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust, So soon was she along as he was down, And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken, 'If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.' He burns with bashful shame; she with her tears He saith she is immodest, blames her 'miss; Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast, Even so she kissed his brow, his cheek, his chin, Forced to content, but never to obey, Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers, Look, how a bird lies tangled in a net, Rain added to a river that is rank Still she entreats, and prettily entreats, Being red, she loves him best; and being white, Look how he can, she cannot choose but love; Till he take truce with her contending tears, Which long have rain'd, making her cheeks all wet; Upon this promise did he raise his chin, But when her lips were ready for his pay, Never did passenger in summer's heat 'I have been woo'd, as I entreat thee now, Yet hath he been my captive and my slave, 'Over my altars hath he hung his lance, His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest, And for my sake hath learn'd to sport and dance, To toy, to wanton, dally, smile and jest, Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red, 'Thus he that overruled I oversway'd, O, be not proud, nor brag not of thy might, Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine,- 'Art thou ashamed to kiss? then wink again, These blue-vein'd violets whereon we lean |